


Courage

by Tehri



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Bilbo is afraid, Brave, Courage, Friendship, Protective Thorin, Self-Discovery, What it means to be brave, Wolves, Worried Thorin, learning, only sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 20:26:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8071588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tehri/pseuds/Tehri
Summary: Bilbo’s father, having been a little superstitious, had once told his son that he shouldn’t speak loudly of bad things, in case that brought bad luck. The phrase used had been “speak of the trolls and they’ll be on your porch”. Not for the first time, Bilbo was inclined to believe that his father had been right.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was, in fact, based on a dream I had. I still have the note about it on my desk, because the first thing on my mind when I woke up was that I had to write this down for a fic.  
> I will honestly say that it is not one of my better works, but I will let you judge.

It had taken an encounter with trolls for Bilbo to decide that travelling outside of the Shire’s borders was quite possibly the worst decision he had ever made. Of course, there was the rather impromptu visit to Rivendell to weigh it up, but the rest of the Company had been inclined to grumble about the troll-incident enough to bring his mood back down. He did as he’d done early in the journey; he sat aside from the others when they ate, and he tried to keep his bedroll as close to the fire and as far away from the dwarves as possible. He couldn’t see what they were grumbling about – if he hadn’t stalled for time, none of them would have been alive. True, Gandalf’s arrival had helped, but goodness knew that the dwarves were an ungrateful bunch.

Bofur, Ori, and Balin had taken pity on him and spoke with him often and had their meals with him. Balin had told the hobbit that he certainly didn’t hold the incident against him.

“It was Fili and Kili who chose not to tell their uncle immediately,” the old dwarf stated firmly when the subject was brought up soon after they’d left Rivendell. “They were the ones who pushed you in the direction of the trolls and then vanished. They’re reckless lads, especially in situations such as that. But I can assure you, master Baggins, that Thorin took them to task over their behaviour.”

“If he admits that they were in the wrong, why does he act as though it was my fault?” Bilbo grumbled in response. “He seems to have pinned it all on me.”

“Fili’s and Kili’s antics he can deal with,” Balin chuckled. “There is nothing new under the sun with them. But you, you are new territory. If I know Thorin right, he doesn’t know how to treat you just yet. You are our burglar, but you are inexperienced. And in the interest of being honest, master Baggins, you _were_ caught.”

“Caught trying to free our ponies,” Bilbo muttered, lifting his head to glare at the leader of the Company; Thorin was trudging along not very far ahead of them with Dwalin, the two of them speaking quietly to each other. “Which his fool nephews tricked me into attempting, after saying that they would be right behind me.”

“Of course, of course.” Balin patted the hobbit’s shoulder and gave him a kind smile. “If it cheers you, I might tell you that the words ‘fools’, ‘idiots’, and ‘irresponsible’ were thrown about quite a bit when Thorin took the lads to task.”

“It doesn’t cheer me,” Bilbo admitted. “It only means that Fili and Kili can get away with a fairly light scolding, whereas I’ve been practically ostracised from the Company for my apparent foolishness, never mind that I was the only one with some sort of plan when we were all tied up in sacks.”

“Thorin will see you in a better light soon, lad,” Balin said, his tone sympathetic. “As will the others. Until then, you know that there are some of us who will stand behind you.”

 

The Misty Mountains drew ever closer. The country they now passed through was nothing but hills, pine-forests, and rivers, and the Company were growing weary of trudging steadily up towards the feet of the mountains. Bilbo still kept pace with the dwarves – seemingly to the amusement of Fili and Kili, who often walked beside him and asked if he was starting to get tired yet. The answer was always no, although sometimes that was not quite the truth.

“We should reach the High Pass either tomorrow or the day after,” Balin stated one day as they climbed yet another hill. “It all depends on what distance we can cover, and where we might find a place to camp.”

“There are streams everywhere,” Bilbo panted, willing himself to keep putting one foot in front of the other. “So water’s no issue. And the trees offer some shelter.”

“But the trees are growing sparse,” Bofur said glumly from behind them. “We’ll have to rely on the rocks soon.”

“I thought that would please you.” Bilbo couldn’t help but shoot the miner a smile over his shoulder. “Only yesterday, you complained about there being too much vegetation.”

“Aye, well, rocks are all well and good,” Bofur chuckled, his mood seeming to brighten a little. “But they don’t offer much shelter from the elements, do they? Unless they’re caves, that is.”

“Speaking of rocks…” Balin patted Bilbo’s shoulder and pointed. They had reached the top of the hill now, and they had a good view of the land around them; not too far off in the distance, there was a hill crowned by a rock that pointed almost like a finger to the sky. “I believe we may have found today’s campsite.”

“How can you tell?” Bilbo asked, frowning as he looked in the direction of the hill.

“Well, Thorin seems to be headed straight for it, for one,” Bofur stated, looking down the slope towards the leader of the Company who seemed to be speeding up. “And eager to get there, apparently.”

“The sun is sinking already,” Balin agreed. “And we’ll need time to gather firewood, as well.”

“It looks almost like a barrow,” Bilbo muttered as they headed down the slope to follow the others. “It’s not right.”

“A barrow?” Bofur raised an eyebrow at the hobbit. “Why would you say that?”

“Because just beyond the Old Forest, there’s the Barrow-downs,” Bilbo grumbled. “Stories say that ancient kings, queens and soldiers of Men were buried there and couldn’t find peace. I’ve never been there myself, but some of my Took-relatives have, and they say that many of the barrows have stones like that on the top. Like markers.”

“Well, let’s hope no ancient Men were buried here,” Bofur chuckled. “We’ll need a peaceful night if we’re to tackle the High Pass.”

 

Bilbo’s father, having been a little superstitious, had once told his son that he shouldn’t speak loudly of bad things, in case that brought bad luck. The phrase used had been “speak of the trolls and they’ll be on your porch”. Not for the first time, Bilbo was inclined to believe that his father had been right.

It was a tense evening when the Company finally had their last meal for the day and tried to settle in. Opinions of whether or not they should wait for Gandalf were split, and they had all snapped at each other more than once during the day. Due to the tension in the air, Bilbo had elected to move a little further away from the others and stick close to Ori; the young dwarf rarely tried to get involved in the arguments that tended to break out, and he seemed like a safe person to be with at the time. They sat together with their backs against the stone; Ori wrote in his journal, and Bilbo watched while the rest of the Company argued amongst themselves. In some cases, the arguments had already evolved into outright wrestling-matches and fistfights.

“If I were like Nori,” Ori stated blandly without looking up from his journal, “this is where I would bet ten silver-pieces on that master Dwalin wins.”

“No bet,” Bilbo muttered, smirking slightly as he watched Dwalin and Thorin attempt to pin each other down. “He has more muscle.”

“But Thorin is more agile,” Ori said, glancing at the hobbit with a smile. “That counts for something.”

“Perhaps, but I think I’d rather imagine a world where he can lose,” Bilbo sighed. “Pardon me, but I am not very kindly disposed towards him.”

“A world where he can lose?” Ori smirked and nudged the hobbit with his elbow. “You seem to hold him in high esteem, then.”

“Hush, you,” Bilbo answered with a laugh. “Are you done with your journal already?”

“Well, there’s really not that much to document,” Ori admitted sheepishly. “All I really have is that we’ve left Rivendell and been on the road again for a few days.”

A triumphant shout was heard from the fighters, and the hobbit turned his head to see how Dwalin had managed to pin Thorin down face-first against the ground. He couldn’t help but snicker at the sight, though he tried to make it look and sound more like he was coughing. Best not aggravate the leader of the Company any longer, especially not if he was to be in a bad mood for losing.

Bilbo’s ear twitched; a sound cut through the shouts of the dwarves, and he turned his head in its direction so fast that he heard his neck crack a little. The sudden motion caught Ori’s attention, and the young dwarf frowned and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Bilbo? Are you-“

The question was cut off by a loud howl. All the dwarves fell silent and turned as one in the direction of the sound, and Bilbo let out a weak whimper. Answering howls could be heard from the north.

“Wolves,” Glóin growled. “And not too far off, by the sound.”

“Do they know where we are, you think?” Bofur asked, frowning and grasping his mattock. “Caught our scent, maybe?”

“I’ll be surprised if they haven’t,” Dwalin stated. “Our fire makes enough light to be seen for miles, besides that.”

“Miles, in this country?” Kili said doubtfully. “There are hills everywhere!”

“Wolves have keen eyes,” Dori muttered. “And keen sense of smell. They know where we are.”

Bilbo tried not to whimper again. He really did, but it seemed impossible to stop. Wolves scared him, quite possibly more than the trolls had. Having been only a tween when white wolves came into the Shire during the Fell Winter, he’d already had enough of hearing howls; he’d never met the wolves, but he’d seen what they left behind. Now, he was trapped on a desolate hilltop with a group of dwarves who seemed more interested in confrontation than anything else.

“Can’t we hide somewhere?” he stuttered. “There’s got to be somewhere…”

“Run down the hill and find a tree, if you’d like,” Thorin barked, shooting the hobbit a dark glare. “Or dig a hole in the ground, as your kin seems so fond of. We are not hiding.”

At any other point in time, Bilbo would have gotten angry at such a suggestion. As it was, his entire being screamed for him to flee, though he knew it would be safer to remain with the dwarves. His eyes darted to and fro, taking in every possible escape route and quickly disregarding them one by one as he realised that the wolves would choose him as an easier target; a lonely and scared hobbit would be only too easy to catch.

 

As night truly settled over them, the howls came closer and closer. Bilbo tried desperately to listen for the padding footsteps, but found that he couldn’t hear a thing over the rumbling voices of the dwarves as they tried to form some sort of strategy for fighting the beasts off. They all sat huddled together by the rock, and Bilbo stared intently out into the darkness beyond the fire; if the wolves came closer, the sheen of their eyes would be seen before the beast truly came upon them.

“Bilbo, what do you think?” Bofur suddenly asked, giving the hobbit a nudge. “You’ve not said a word.”

“It’s useless to ask the Halfling,” Thorin’s cold voice stated. “He knows nothing of-“

“Oh, would you lot just _hush up_?” Bilbo hissed angrily. “I’m trying to listen! Talking does no good right now, and…“ He paused and frowned. The howls were silent. In fact, there was no sound aside from the crackling of the fire. “Gone,” he murmured. “That’s odd…”

“They might’ve left,” Kili said hopefully from his place by his uncle’s side. “Maybe they saw how many we are and thought it wasn’t worth it?”

“It was a big pack,” Bilbo muttered in response as he turned to the dwarves again. “They can’t possibly have-“

He froze, his eyes widening in fear. Thorin, seeing his expression, was the first to jump up and turn, brandishing his sword just as the first of the wolves came into view of the fire. Behind it, more eyes glinted in the dark.

“They snuck around,” Glóin growled. “Why didn’t we notice?”

“Because you lot were talking so I couldn’t hear any movement,” Bilbo whimpered. “Oh, this isn’t good…”

The wolves looked thin, almost half-starved. He could remember what his uncle Gorbadoc had said of the white wolves that came into the Shire during the Fell Winter; wolves that looked like that were not beasts that would flee after a little bit of fighting. They would be desperate, and hungry.

Gorbadoc, it seemed, was proven right.

The pack was fierce, and did not give up even as the dwarves struggled. Bilbo had his back pressed against the rock and held his little sword in his hand, but could scarcely move; frozen in fear, he watched as the dwarves fended off beast after beast. But they were growing weary, all of them were.

It took only a small opening in the line the dwarves had formed for the wolves to exploit it. Soon, they were driven apart, forced to fend for themselves in small groups. And Bilbo, he was left by the rock with Thorin and Balin.

Later in life, Bilbo would not be able to recall precisely what had happened. All of a sudden, Balin was fending off two wolves, and Thorin was on his back with a third over him and a fourth approaching with its teeth bared in a snarl. And Bilbo, seeing that the dwarf-king could not do much, did the first thing he could think of.

He crouched down, scooped up a handful of small rocks, and flung one right at the fourth wolf; it struck the beast’s eye, and the howl that sounded was enough to make the hobbit whimper again. But even as the beast turned towards him, Bilbo matched its snarl and steeled himself for what was about to come.

“Come here, you ugly mutt,” he bit out. “That’s it, come over here, away from the nasty dwarf. You’ll want an easy catch, I bet.”

He could hear Thorin shouting something, but in the general din he couldn’t hear the precise words. The wolf came closer, hunched down as though expecting more resistance. Bilbo flung another rock at it, striking it square on the nose this time. The wolf snarled. Just before it leapt forward, the hobbit darted around the rock, making use of the short time he had to climb the rock. He only barely managed to get up and out of reach, feeling the hot breath of the beast as it snapped after his feet. He didn’t shriek; he only turned his gaze to the wolf that Thorin still struggled with, and flung yet another rock. It caught the wolf off guard, striking its head so suddenly that it yelped and turned its head to look for its assailant.

Swift as a snake, Bilbo threw another rock. He had aimed for the wolf’s eye, but it jumped out of the way too soon. But Thorin made good use of the distraction, leaping back onto his feet and lashing out at the beast with his sword. Before the dwarf could turn to find another, Bilbo called out to him:

“Behind the rock! It’s trying to get up!”

And sure enough, the wolf was leaping and desperately attempting to find foothold in the little nooks and crannies that Bilbo’s clever fingers had been able to make use of to heave himself up on the rock. It seemed that for every attempt, the beast grew surer of what to do; it managed two swift jumps in a row now, almost able to reach the hobbit’s jacket.

Just as Bilbo was certain that it was over, that he would be dragged down and killed and eaten, he heard a loud yelp. The next thing he knew, there was a dead wolf on the ground, and Thorin Oakenshield tugged his sword free from its neck before racing off to aid his kin.

 

“Are you mad?” Thorin roared at the hobbit. “What possessed you to do something so utterly foolish as to lure one of them to you?”

The last of the wolves had finally been driven off, and the dwarves were tending to whatever minor injuries they had sustained. Bilbo was shaking like a leaf, but this was more due to the dwarf-king’s anger than anything else.

“I had to,” he objected. “You already had one over you and couldn’t fend off one more without having your throat ripped out!”

“You have a weapon,” Thorin snapped. “Why would you throw rocks, like a small child?”

“I don’t know how to use a sword,” Bilbo cried. “I would only have done something stupid and hurt myself!”

“And rocks are so much better?”

“It worked, didn’t it? I didn’t hear you complaining when it got the other one off of you!”

Thorin looked as though he wanted to tear the hobbit in half. Before the dwarf could so much as open his mouth again, however, Balin stepped forward and put a hand on the hobbit’s shoulder.

“All things considered, Thorin, he did well under pressure,” the old dwarf stated. “We can always teach him to wield that little letter-opener of his, but you must admit that his tactics, however unorthodox, were effective.”

“Effective? It was brilliant!” Nori laughed as he strolled up to them, putting an arm around Bilbo. “We need to get you throwing daggers, master Baggins! Perhaps a little weightier than you’re used to, but you’d be fearsome enough with them!”

“What about a sling?” Dori suggested. “Maybe not a slingshot, as what Ori has, but it would work well enough.”

“A slingshot could work,” Ori protested. “Bilbo, you could borrow mine to practice! I’ll show you how to use it!”

“I know how to use a sling and a slingshot,” Bilbo mumbled. “I just… don’t. Tooks are good with weapons, they even use bows and arrows…”

“But you keep saying you’re half Took,” Nori said smugly, poking at the hobbit’s cheek. “You could learn!”

All the while, Bilbo tried very hard not to meet the eyes of Thorin. The dwarf looked furious; not only with Bilbo for his seemingly foolish decision to get involved in the fight, but with his kin for apparently protecting the hobbit. And Bilbo could only stand there, wishing silently that he could sink through the ground.

 

“You’ve been quiet,” Ori said when they camped again. It was the second day after the wolf-attack, and Bilbo had not spoken much with anyone after that. He’d kept to himself, trying hard not to get in the way of anyone – especially not Thorin. “Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong,” Bilbo said quickly, trying for a small smile. “Just thinking, is all.”

“About what?” Ori had seen far too much of that face. It was the same look that Dori got when he was bothered by something. “Is it about the wolves?”

“Did I do wrong?” Bilbo asked quietly after a moment’s silence. “Should I just have stayed out of it? Only, Thorin would… I don’t know what would have happened.” He groaned and shook his head. “I just… I saw the wolf approach, and I remembered the Fell Winter. There was… I was not awake then, I was ill, but a pack of wolves had made it to Hobbiton, to the Hill. And one tried to get into the smial.”

Ori froze, blinking and staring at the hobbit. It was clear that Bilbo had had this story told to him, and nothing else, but his voice still shook when he spoke.

“Mum was with me,” the hobbit continued, still with the same quiet voice. “She was looking after me, and heard a dreadful clamour from the back-door. She didn’t dare to leave me at first, but then she heard a few thumps and a slam, and furniture being dragged around. Then da came into the room, covered in blood and with tufts of fur on his clothes, and told her that a wolf tried to get in. He’d… He’d taken a poker from the parlour and gone to see what the noise was, and he’d bashed its head in when it tried to push through the crack in the door.”

“That’s good,” Ori said approvingly. “Dori would have done the same.”

“It’s different,” Bilbo objected. “Dori is a warrior. My da, he was just a hobbit. Just a single frightened hobbit who realised that if that wolf got any further, it would kill all of us. Dori would have finished a wolf with a single blow, but my da just… He panicked. He hit it again and again, until it stopped whimpering and stopped moving. And then he just pulled it inside, though I’ve no idea how he managed it, and he slammed the door and barricaded it. And went to tell mum what had happened, and that they’d need to get rid of the carcass.”

“Still good.” Ori smiled somewhat and reached out to pat the hobbit’s shoulder. “He protected his family. That was brave of him.”

“He was terrified,” Bilbo said. “I asked him, and he said that all he could think about was this beast trying to get to me and mum. He said that he’d never been so frightened in all his life, and that he even threw up once it really sunk in what had happened.”

Ori was silent for a moment. Then he caught Balin’s eye and waved for the older dwarf to come closer. Bilbo seemed to not notice.

“What’s the matter, laddie?” Balin asked, frowning as he glanced at the hobbit. “Is everything alright?”

“Bilbo just told me his da killed a wolf once,” Ori said firmly, noting how Bilbo blinked and stared at him in surprise. “And that his da had never been more frightened in his life than then.”

“Well, first time is always frightening,” Balin said after a moment of consideration, smiling kindly at Bilbo. “He did well if he succeeded.”

“But he was terrified,” Bilbo said quickly. “He didn’t know what he was doing. And neither did I, for that matter, when the wolves came!”

“A warrior is not always cock-sure as Fili and Kili can be,” Balin chuckled. “In fact…” He paused and glanced towards Thorin, who sat beside his nephews while they cleaned their blades. “I believe that Thorin was frightened as well, when he saw what you were doing.”

“See?” Ori beamed at Bilbo. “I said Dori would have done the same as your da, not that he wouldn’t have been afraid!”

“Thorin,” Bilbo said in a deadpan voice, “cannot have been frightened. Not for my sake.”

“But were you afraid for him?” Balin asked, trying very hard to hide a smug little smile when Bilbo glared at him. “You got involved in a fight despite the wolves not paying any attention to you. You could easily have snuck off to hide, but you chose to help Thorin when he was pinned down.”

“What does that matter?”

“A warrior,” Balin said, using his best lecturer-voice, “is not always as cock-sure as portrayed in stories. A warrior who goes into battle knows the risks. That he accepts them, does not mean that he does not fear them. It is the fear of death that makes us fight to avoid it – even if it is the death of others.” He smiled kindly again. “And you, Bilbo, were very brave to lure a wolf towards you although you had little to no means of defending yourself. I’m sure you thought your father very brave to have fought off a wolf to save you and your mother.”

“I did,” Bilbo admitted quietly. “So did mum.”

“Well, courage can’t exist without fear,” the old dwarf said. “If you aren’t afraid to face such a risk, then I would call you foolhardy. But if you are afraid? Then you acknowledge just how dangerous it is, and foolhardiness becomes bravery. You fought despite being afraid.”

Bilbo was silent for a while, thinking of Balin’s words. Finally, he looked up at the two dwarves and raised an eyebrow.

“I still cannot believe that Thorin was frightened for my sake,” he said firmly. “Not when he was so angry afterwards.”

“Dori always does that,” Ori laughed. “He frets and frets, and he gets angry when he frets. He doesn’t mean to, but that’s what he’s like when he’s afraid. Perhaps Thorin reacts the same way, and will chew someone out for making him worry for them.”

 

“No, you’re holding it wrong again,” Thorin sighed, reaching out to adjust Bilbo’s grasp. “Not so stiff. It’ll fly right out of your hands, then.”

“It’ll fly out of my hands no matter what I do,” Bilbo grumbled. “I told you, hobbits aren’t made for wielding swords.”

Getting into danger and frightening his companions more than once was apparently enough reason for Thorin to decide that Bilbo _had_ to learn to use his sword. Though, perhaps the fact that the hobbit had saved the dwarf-king from an orc had helped with that decision. Bilbo had, of course, objected multiple times; but all protests fell on deaf ears, and Thorin took it upon himself to train the hobbit once they were safe in the home of Beorn.

“You have to know this,” Thorin insisted. “Try again. It’s a simple parry.”

Bilbo tried again. He must’ve done better, for Thorin did not attempt to adjust his grasp this time. But as soon as the dwarf gave his sword a light tap, Bilbo felt it begin to slip from his fingers, and he hurried to adjust his grasp to keep it from doing so.

“How on earth am I supposed to learn this?” Bilbo snapped, feeling frustrated with being forced into learning and with his own lack of progress. “I only killed one orc, _one_ , without it being on accident!”

“All beginners are utter rubbish when they start,” Thorin said, giving the hobbit a small smile. “Calm yourself, master Baggins. Fili and Kili were just as bad.”

“Saying just how bad I am doesn’t help, you know,” the hobbit growled.

“Practice will help.” The dwarf-king sighed again and ran his fingers through his hair. “But perhaps a small break is in order. You needn’t glare at me so – it seems hard because you have only seen seasoned warriors wielding blades, and we make it seem easier than it is. It’s frustrating to realise that it truly isn’t so easy, and it affects what you’re doing. Try not to think of how I would do it, but simply how you have to do it.”

“That makes no sense!” Bilbo sheathed his little sword and threw his hands up. “Of course I’ll think of how you would do it, because you’re the one showing me what to do! But you’re larger than I am, and I cannot see every little twitch of your arms because of your armour!”

Thorin snorted, but gave the hobbit an amused glance.

“Should I be shirtless?” he asked. “Would that help you or hinder you?”

“I only want to know why you insist on this!” Bilbo cried. “I’ve managed so far, even if it has been by luck!”

“You’ve managed,” Thorin agreed easily. “But you’ve also put yourself in more danger than you know.” His smile disappeared, and he was once again the grim dwarf-king whom the hobbit had travelled with for weeks on end. “I insist because we cannot always be there to help you. I _must_ know that you can defend yourself, or I’ll be on edge constantly while worrying for your safety. I must know that you are competent, that I can trust you to take care of yourself in a battle.”

Bilbo stared at him, managing to look confused and understanding all at once.

“Worrying for me,” he said slowly. “You worry for me.”

“Of course I do.” Thorin raised an eyebrow at him. “When we set out from the Shire, you were the only one in the Company who had never seen battle. Gandalf told me as much, when pressed to do so. Quick and clever enough, but not used to fighting beyond occasional scuffles with cousins, and never with weapons.” He looked away, his jaw clenched. “The trolls could have killed you, _would_ have killed you, if we had not come. If Gandalf had not saved us all, you would have been dead long ago. The wolves? You would have been dead in but a moment, if you hadn’t had the sense to climb the rock, and I could never have helped you. I would have had you run and hide, but you chose to help me. Yes, I worry for you. You’ve scared the entire Company half to death more than once.” He glanced back at the hobbit, seeing him stand there slack-jawed and staring, and couldn’t help but frown. “Have I really made you believe that I did not fear for you? That I would not help you?”

“I’ve never known what to think,” Bilbo admitted. “One moment you’re telling me I’m worthless, the next you race off to save me. Then you shout at me for trying to help, and you never tell me what exactly I should have done differently.”

“My sister has told me before that I am not skilled at showing that I worry,” Thorin sighed. “I get angry, because whoever has made me worry should be able to take care of themselves. If Fili and Kili have heard me say that they can’t do anything, they have tried to improve themselves and fought harder than ever before to show that they can, that I needn’t fear for them.” He smiled faintly and shrugged. “I suppose that old rocks are harder to hew. But being brave cannot always save you, master Baggins, and-“

“Bilbo.” Thorin blinked, and Bilbo smiled at him. “If I don’t have to call you ‘master Thorin’, you must simply call me Bilbo.” The hobbit tilted his head. “And I have to say that I cannot see why you think anything I’ve done is _brave_. Foolish seemed more like the word you would use.”

“One moment, you always seem frozen in fear,” Thorin said slowly after a moment. “Then, you leap right into the fray, simply because you want to help us. Because you feel that it is the right thing to do. No matter how frightened you were, you charged at an orc and stood defiant before their leader, despite not being able to wield a sword. You chose to protect me, even if you were frightened, because you did not want to watch me die.” The dwarf smiled, a warm and kind smile that almost had the hobbit blushing. “Bravery can be found in unexpected places, Bilbo, and I am glad to see it in you.”

 

“But I failed, uncle!” Frodo’s voice was uncharacteristically harsh, and it made Bilbo’s heart ache to hear such a tone coming from his dear nephew. “I failed! I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t let it go like you did! And I… I was so afraid, I was certain I’d die there! It wouldn’t matter, no matter what I did!”

“And I, not knowing how to wield a sword, charged at an orc about to kill a dwarf-king,” Bilbo snapped back, frowning disapprovingly. “One could argue I failed. And goodness knows I was terrified. But I _did it_ all the same.”

“It’s not the same,” Frodo argued. “It’s not the same at all! You went on a grand journey, and I… I didn’t know what I was doing! I had to do _something_ , but-“

“But you were afraid.” Bilbo’s voice grew kinder, and he put his wrinkled old hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “You were terrified, and still you made a choice. You chose to take the Ring. You chose to carry it all the way to Mordor. You were afraid, so deathly afraid of what would happen, but you _did it_. And you are here now, my lad. You never failed. You did all that you could, and you came back. The war is over, is it not?”

“Yes, but-“

“And the Dúnadan is now king of Gondor and Arnor, is he not?”

“Uncle, that isn’t-“

“And you and your friends are back, safe and alive.”

“What are you-“

“If you call this failure, or your own efforts cowardice, then I am a Sackville-Baggins,” Bilbo stated calmly. “You were very brave, my lad, for you did what you felt was right despite your own fear. And I am very proud of you, and happy to see you alive.”


End file.
